Symphony of Lies
by it's just another daydream
Summary: As a child, she had dreams. Dreams of fantasy and fairytale - dreams of love. As a young woman, she has but one duty - and that is to her people. She must sacrifice everything for her Kingdom... even if it means forsaking those dreams she'd held so dear.
1. 001: Misplaced

**001: Misplaced**

It was ten in the morning, and she was the only one awake.

A stranger to the land may find this odd; a castle, filled with servants and members of the Ruling Family, was nearly dead to the world, the Shinma guarding the outer walls of the estate being the only souls—besides herself—that were not dormant within the Kyuuketsu Manor. Had she not grown so used to the silence during the hours of Light, she may have gone insane; but as it was, she'd found a sort of solace within the silence, reveling in the peace and calm it gave her.

Padding softly upon the carpeted floors, she searched for her lost flute.

Asatamashii Miyu was the sole-surviving heir to the Kyuuketsu throne—a daughter born into a cursed family and an equally cursed future. At birth, it was said she'd share the fate of her ancestors and parents before her, becoming yet another vampire within a long, long line of vampires—Watchers of the Shinma. Of the six children the King and Queen had, only one—Miyu—had lived past her first birthday, bringing forth a Prophecy long ago forsaken; a Guardian. Ironically, however, Miyu, now the ripe age of ten-and-six years, did not even possess the ivory fangs that trademarked the vampires, let alone the bloodthirsty genes that consumed her bloodline. Her period of puberty would soon reach an end, and still, her heritage did not overtake her—for this, her parents were thankful.

Though of Kyuuketsu blood themselves, not even the most ruthless of parents would wish such a fate upon their offspring—especially if it was the only child that still lived. It was their wish that she live as a human—the proverbial rabbit in a den of lions, albeit, a rather well-lavished rabbit within a den of lions that would not harm said rabbit if they valued their lives. For the most part, she _was_ like a human, living without fear of the Sun and sleeping when the nocturnal creatures were just awakening.

But there was still a strangeness about her—a darkness that tainted an otherwise innocent soul.

"Where could it be?" She wondered, mentally rummaging the many corners of her mind. "I _know_ I put it in the case . . . and yet, it is not in there." A few tendrils of stray chestnut hair fluttered when she sighed, signaling a frustration that she'd never fully show. "I'd never be so careless with such a thing; I swear, if Shiina decided to play some sort of joke, I'll kill that little thing."

As the sole Heir to an Empire, there were many responsibilities; many she wished she did not have. As future Queen, she oversaw and protected her people—the Shinma of the Eastern World. At a young age, she'd been trained to protect herself with her bare fists in place of the natural instincts one received as a vampire; she was born to eliminate any threat to her people, although that time in her life had not yet come (and she was also the daylight protector of the household, should the guards fail)—she'd inherit the throne in a mere two years, which meant she had that much time left to be what she was.

A teenage girl.

Unfortunately, her eighteenth year would mark more than just her ascension.

War had been brewing amongst the Shinma of the Realm—a world parallel to the Human realm, named Styx—and a bloody feud divided the Western and Eastern Shinma brutally. The initial reason for the animosity had long since been forgotten, but the hatred and meaningless bloodshed still carried on. Thousands of years passed on ruthlessly before either side realized that this was getting nowhere—and thus, a plan was formed.

The Ruler of the West met with the Osa of the East somewhere amidst the barrier between Styx and the Human Realm, where both of their powers were rendered useless. After a week of non-stop negotiations and countless debates, the two great Commanders came to an agreement. Miyu recalled having stayed up for that entire week—one of the few times she'd been able to interact with the people in her nocturnal household—until her father had returned, and the relief when he finally had. Her smile had been genuine, her eyes glimmering with a childlike elation. The look on her otou-san's face, however, stopped any sort of welcome she'd been about to spew; he looked put-out, but more like the Osa than her father—her loving, caring father.

Although sunlight didn't kill vampires, it did severely weaken them—almost to the point where it _could_ be fatal. Her father was a strong man, however, and had stood with his shoulder back and head held up high beneath the mid-afternoon sun upon his return. His blue eyes were dark. Saddened. It wasn't until he'd spoken privately with his wife that he told his young daughter—nine at the time—of the fate he'd given her for the safety and future prosperity of their people. Of the fate he'd altered.

_'I am getting aggravated,'_ she thought to herself, turning yet another corner in pursuit of her wayward flute; where in Hell _was_ that blasted thing? She was the only one that touched the instrument—so where could it be? "I'm going to _destroy_ Shiina."

Though raised as a princess, it had taken almost an entire year or two before she was able to accept the nightmare to come—she had to, for there was no other choice. She'd taken the news in stride, yes, but that did not mean it hadn't disturbed her greatly. At nine, she'd still believed in fairytales and romance; Love at first sight and Knights in Shining Armor. Her dreams had been shattered on a catastrophic scale upon hearing that her hand had been all but tossed into a marriage with the second-oldest son of the Western King. A complete and total stranger by the name of Aubrey G. Ashbourne—dubbed 'Lava' because of the unnatural color of his eyes . . . or so they said.

The young Miyu had learned first hand at the age of eleven that 'Lava' _did,_ in fact, fit him; she'd accepted what she couldn't help and it had been arranged that she would visit him—or he visit _her_—at least once a year. It was a poor attempt from her father to try and make up for this disastrous turn of events, thinking that if she could fall in _love_ with her future husband, that all would be well.

But this was not the case.

The first thing she noted upon stepping foot into the foreign manor was that Lord Aubrey G. Ashbourne did _not_ have lava-colored eyes—they were red. Deep, endless, swirling pools of red. Red like roses. Red like her hair ribbons. Red like the blood that sustained her family—the blood and heritage that had not been passed onto her. They smoldered dangerously when they met her own, plainer chocolate ones. His voice was low and warm, but it carried with it the undercurrent of dark, forbidden secrets and oh-so-tantalizing sin. A man of slow, rumbling laughter, spontaneity and smoldering flames. With sapphire hair and a devil-may-care smile, he was handsome, charming, and the epitome of a nineteen year old in the prime of his life.

It was hard to like him. Even a little.

But she had tried for her father's sake. When she'd turned twelve, and he twenty, things only went downhill. She wanted to read books of fiction and romance—he wanted Hash and a glass of wine. She enjoyed playing with two of his four younger siblings—Gerald and Garnet, both twins at the age of seven at the time—whilst he galloped off at odd times of the night with his older brother, Garline (twenty-two), in search for some vulnerable, gullible little thing to share in bed.

It was obvious the prince did not like the idea of being tied-down to a child of twelve. A girl—a mere_ human_—eight years his junior. He scoffed at restrictions, and this was no different; he was forced to spend the rest of his life by this chit's side? Meh. He was a horrible womanizer—too put it mildly—and, if left to his own devices, he could cause havoc and chaos the likes of which Hell has never seen. A demon, this one; and, unfortunately, the princess knew this all too well. During her month-long visits to his home, she often stayed in the higher, topmost levels of his manor in the hopes to avoid him and his own. Long gone were the days when she played with the younger of the Ashbourne siblings, for they'd grown out of 'playing'; even the youngest—five year old Gemmy—preferred his toys over her.

"This is the seventh floor I've tried; perhaps it's in my tower?" Thinking aloud, the brown-eyed Miyu continued down a corridor, tugging her morning robe tighter about her small frame. She was beginning to grow weary of this; Lava was due to arrive any day now, and losing her flute did not add to her already-frazzled nerves.

His visits to _her_ home—they alternated every year—always made her feel either five or _fifty_. When he wasn't treating her like a child, he loved to tease her something awful, as if she were his sister rather than his fiancée. To top it off, there were times when he came that they _all_ came—every last Ashbourne tagged along with Lava, coming to stay beneath the same roof as the human princess of the Kyuuketsu and Eastern Shinma alike. It was during those rare times that Lady Miyu Asatamashii wished she were just a normal girl in the Human World; they never went through times like this, she'd heard.

Must be nice.

A long time ago, she recalled a brief conversation with her husband-to-be; one of the few interesting and serious conversations they'd had—and that was saying something, since Lava being serious was like Lava being celibate. _It just didn't happen_. It had been about his name: Aubrey.

As far as she knew, their mother, Lady Marlene—may her soul rest in peace—had been overly fond of names beginning with the letter 'G'; their father had been extremely indulgent to his wife, which resulted in each one of their children being named thusly. From the youngest, it was Gianni (Gemmy), Gerald and Garnet, Ginji, and Garline—but Lava, just two years younger than Garline, was named 'Aubrey'. Miyu could not help but notice—and, ultimately, ask why.

"Funny you should ask," he'd replied, sipping the red liquid in his glass. "My name's actually Gabriel; notice the 'G' after 'Aubrey'."

That made sense. But . . . "Then why—"

"I felt like being different." He smirked, but it didn't seem as off-handish as it usually did. There was a frown darkening those bloody pools of temptation, but she knew better than to pry. "Dad agreed to it as long as I changed my name back once I married." The shadows leapt and danced across his face, the fireplace hiding more than it revealed. "I think 'Aubrey' sounds better than 'Gabriel', don't you?"

She'd shaken her head, not answering.

Of course, the conversation had ended not two seconds later when the gorgeous blonde-haired Lilith and come to claim her lover, completely uncaring that he was spending quality time—or _something_—with his fiancée. With a smile and a farewell, he'd left the young fourteen year old by the hearth to stare blankly at a wall for the rest of the night. Of course, she'd always wondered who would be the one to have moved her to her own bed come morning when she woke up, but she figured it to be a servant or some such; who _else_ would carry her petite frame whilst she slept?

Bare feet padding softly up the winding stairs of her own, private tower, she scanned the area for the flute she looked for.

The flute was custom made from a rare alloy only found on a small island in the Western half of the world. It was smaller than ordinary flutes and designed with embedded evergreen vines twisting intricately around the surface of the instrument, the silver of the metal shiny and cool to the touch. When she played, it sounded beautiful. Ethereal. She cherished it more than anything; even though, of course, it had been a gift from Lord Aubrey _Gabriel_ Ashbourne.

It was cold up here in the Observatory. With a small, audible shiver, she cinched her morning robe ever tighter around her waist, futilely trying to keep warm. On Spring days, she loved coming up here to watch the beauty of the landscape in silence, where no one or thing could disturb the serenity. When she wanted to get away, she came here to think—to focus. To accept. With the cool breeze tickling her skin, she could sort out every difficulty in her mind and work it through, fixing any problem and ultimately calming herself down. In the place of the friends she'd lost long ago, she had her own little getaway that provided her with the comfort and escape from reality she so lacked in her life. Warm words and strong embraces—she needed none of those if she had this place.

But now she was cold. It was mid-winter and the little lady was freezing up here—but she refused to give up. Slowly, she looked in every corner and crevice, searching for her precious instrument—to no avail. Minutes went by in frustrating silence before, a frosty hour later, Miyu slumped against the wall, exasperated. "Where could it be?" Her peaches n' cream complexion had paled to an ashy, snowy pallor and she felt her insides quaking. _'Dammit.'_ She wanted her flute. It wasn't often she wanted something, but when she did, she'd do almost anything to get it—most of the time anyway.

Almost angrily—_almost_, for the princess was not known to be expressive—the human girl came down from the tower, cold, annoyed, and fatigued; she'd never gotten along with cold weather for some reason. _'Where could it _be_!'_ Dragging a hand through her wind-tousled hair, she went down to the kitchens—a mug of hot chocolate would make her feel better. "I just wish I could _find_ the bloody thing."

"Looking for something, princess?"

She just _barely_ kept herself from jumping a mile into the air; with a choked breath, she turned, her chocolate-brown eyes revealing nothing to him, though it was _beyond_ obvious that he'd given her a damned good scare—his smile was wide and toothy. Sometimes she wondered who was the younger of the two—him or her? Mentally screaming every foul name at him that she could think of, she took a moment of pause before her brain could formulate normal words. Her English skills were pitiful at best, so she did not even attempt at communicating with him in his native tongue; he knew Japanese pretty damn well anyway, so what was the point? "_Ne_; when did you arrive?" No Hellos, no How Are Yous—no beating around the bush.

He switched to Japanese, speaking beautifully in spite of his background. "A few hours ago, actually." Another cheeky smile. "Seeing as we came ahead of schedule, I guess your father didn't know to send an escort; Garline had no idea where the Hell we were going and when we landed, we were lost until Garnet asked someone for directions—pretty sad state of affairs, considering how long we've been making the trip over here, _ne_?" He chuckled. "We had to listen to Garnet's lectures on 'men and directions' the whole way."

Interesting—and bizarre. The Ashbournes were _never_ early; they'd be fashionably late to their own _graves_. And _Garline_ had piloted the ship? From years of observing the siblings, she knew Garline loved ships . . . but usually the Western King had an entire crew—complete with guards and caretakers—to pilot the kids (and the King, when he came) over to the Eastern shores; and usually, it was just Lava that made the journey over, for the others had no obligation to visit the Kyuuketsu Manor. So why now? "Your _otou-san_'s not with you?" It didn't make sense; when they came, they never really _saw_ her, so what's with all the hubbub_ this_ time? Did she miss something?

"_Iie; otou-san_ decided to stay home this time," he answered with a look that screamed how much he longed to be back there as well. "It's just us." His lips curled a little, his eyes boring into hers; she stared back emotionlessly. "I've never seen you with your hair down."

It was then, belatedly, that she noted of her inappropriate state of dress—or _lack_ thereof, rather. She moved to pull it back with something—_any_thing—but he was quicker, stilling her hands before they reached her soft brown tresses. "No—I didn't mention it for you to put it back up; I like it like this." His smile was genuine. "Everyone's waiting downstairs; that's why I came up here."

It suddenly clicked. "You were waiting for a maid to show you to your rooms." It wasn't a question. Nodding to herself, she headed down towards the foyer, the amused Lava trailing behind her. "You should call before you show up unannounced," she told him as they descended yet another winding staircase. "We were unable to get the rooms ready; no one is even _awake_ right now because no one _knew._" She was not used to playing hostess—that was her mother's job, and had never been written into her own's description. Although, one _usually_ didn't find your guest by way of scaring the living _daylights_ out of you.

"Ah, Lava; I thought you'd gotten lost."

"My sense of direction is much better than yours, Garline."

"I beg to differ," muttered Garnet with a huff.

"Oh, _don't_ start this now!" The other twin, Gerald, looked weary.

"Ugh—I still feel queasy from the boatride. . ."

"It's a _ship_, Ginji!" Garnet looked about ready to explode.

"Whatever—I'm still sick."

"You promised me a cookie, Lava!" This was Gemmy, tugging cutely on one of his own locks of hair.

"Can you wait till we _unpack_, at least?"

". . . No!"

As they bickered amongst themselves, she felt like an intruder—and outsider in her own home. She stood off to the side, unintentionally concealed within the shadow of a column; she was an honest enough person to know that she envied them, as despicable an emotion as that may be. She, the sole-living child of the Kyuuketsu royal bloodline, had never known a brother's love. Had never known what it was like to bicker and argue—to laugh and joke with someone so close to you. To have someone there that was tied to you, whether you wanted them to be or not.

And though her parents loved her, their nature did not allow them to be with their daughter during the day. An hour or two here and there—that was all she saw of her parents. She knew no friends, for Shiina was more of a pet than a friend. Despite the fact that she was human, she was a true creature of the Night; alone.

Try as she might, the ache in her chest would not leave; she spoke in her heavily accented English so that they could all understand her. "The West Wing will be yours to do with as you wish during your stay here." Her voice cut through the chatter, all attention focusing upon her; she was small, but her presence was not. It demanded allegiance. Respect. "Excuse the state of the Manor; we were not expecting your arrival, and so I'm afraid it is in a state of Rest." She bowed her head slightly, apologizing formally. Everything seemed to be in disarray—_some_one had to be organized about this. "I'll show you to your rooms."

Garline's smile was wide and welcoming, an exact replica of Lava's—it was no small secret how alike they were. "Princess! How good to see you! I haven't seen you in so long—if I had, I would have noted what a fine young woman you've become. I fear I'm turning green from envy, dear brother." He was as playful and teasing as Lava, only on a much more flirtatious level. "I bet you're _bombarded_ with suitors, eh?" He chuckled.

As always when dealing with others, she favored him with a cool disregard. "I'll awaken the staff to carry your things; follow me."

And so they did; what _else_ could they do? The only available Lady of the Manor had all but ordered them to follow—they _couldn't_ refuse, even if they had wanted to. Dressed in a mere night-slip and morning robe, she looked younger than her sixteen years warranted, although she stood no less regally. Even attired thus, one could not mistake the future Queen, her long tresses curling slightly in the morning light. For the first time that day, the siblings noticed how dark some corridors were, whilst others were bathed in sunlight. Some hallways were long and twisted—others short and simple. Gemmy clung to Lava subconsciously.

The line of Ashbournes that trailed the princess would seem comical to any random observer—but as it was, the troop became oddly quiet until Miyu herself broke the silence. "If you happen to venture onto the eighth floor, beware of the third corridor to the right of the main staircase."

"Why?" It was Garnet, unable to contain her curiosity.

"It is unstable." Her English truly _was_ terrible, but they understood her nonetheless; the twins and Gemmy knew next to nothing of Japanese, and Ginji, although nearly-fluent, was not overly-fond of the language. Because of her inadequacy in languages, she explained no further, hoping that they'd heed her warning; one of Miyu's training sessions had gone wrong, and thus, the foundation there was shaky at best. One misstep and it would all come tumbling down.

A little while later, they arrived in the West Wing; a large, round room at the end of the hallway—complete with doors that led into separate rooms with their own bathrooms. It was here she left her guests to choose whichever chambers they wished, making her way down to the servant's level to awaken the household—afterwards, she'd awaken her parents. She was approaching the main staircase when she felt a presence behind her. _His._ "Is there something amiss?" She walked down a few steps and stopped, turning to face one of her houseguests for the next month or so. Perhaps he was hungry? If so, he should have simply told her before; she felt awkward with him standing there.

He was leaning casually against the banister, his eyes hooded. "What were you looking for earlier?"

She was surprised at the question, but chose to not let it show. "My flute."

His smile was warm—but oddly dark. "The one I gave you?" She nodded. "I'm surprised you still have that thing; I didn't know you played the flute." Seeing her furrowed brow, he answered the question he saw there. "I just thought it was a rather pretty instrument—I didn't think you actually _played_ it. Girls usually like just _having_ trinkets like that simply because they're pretty; baubles and useless knick-knacks, you know?" He offered by way of explanation. Her unmoving expression bothered him a little—he was compelled by mysteries, but this was one he was not sure he wanted to delve into; after all, in a few more years, he'd have her entire life to figure her out, seeing as Shinma outlived humans by several centuries_ easily_.

She said nothing. Standing there motionlessly, he was vaguely reminded of a doll—a sad, lone little porcelain doll. When the silence reached a fever-pitch, she finally spoke. "Is there something you needed—I am headed for the staff right now." She was escaping something; him. They both knew it, and yet he couldn't fathom why.

He shook his head and she nodded, turning and leaving him to ponder the enigma she embodied—and then shake them away.

They were mysteries for another day.


	2. 002: Solitude

**002: Solitude**

Her mind was surprisingly empty.

It had taken hours, but she'd finally achieved it; not a single thought or emotion had been left unchecked, and she felt eerily like a black hole of sorts—a vacant void of nothingness. Meaningless, but still in existence. When the chilly breeze blew against her, she only felt the wind—no memories or trips of reminiscence.

If only it would last.

This time around, she was dressed much more appropriately; a warm at-home kimono of simple green protected her from the cold, a dark blue obi cinching the waist tight to her frame and keeping it closed. As was customary in the East, she did not wear shoes within the house, her white-socked feet—hidden within the length of kimono—quite warm in spite of the temperature up here at the Observatory. Her hair was in its trademark style of bun-and-braid, a red ribbon keeping it in place with the very tip of the plait brushing her outer thighs. She wore no jewels or make up—she was not one for much decoration—but she was still the epitome of a princess; back straight and poised, elegant despite—or rather, _because _of—simplicity.

She wasn't gorgeous by any means—when she was younger, she dreamed of being as beautiful and dazzling as those princesses from fairytales. Ethereal beauties with neither flaw nor wrong; perfection—something she'd never be. Her eyes were large and her nose small; she was more cute than pretty in any respect, and didn't exactly receive the same kind of attention as those women born with earth-shattering features and extraordinary curves—perfect. It was usually, "Aw—how cute," rather than, "Holy _Hell_, was that an angel!"

She'd always be seen as just a child.

Asatamashii Miyu was a girl who knew her own strengths and weaknesses. Physically, her body was a frail little thing, betraying her when she needed it the most; but mentally, she was sharp and intelligent, able to outwit any opponent in spite of age or rank. She didn't quit—she regrouped and restrategized. Without anyone outright saying so, she'd known at a very young age that she was an underdog; a girl raised in an environment that didn't exactly fit _her_. A mere human. She knew she wasn't pretty, and she knew she'd never demand respect the way her father's presence did, but she _knew_ this environment, and she _knew_ this life; she could make due with what she had. Pull through. She could survive.

_'But that doesn't mean I can't dream.'_ She didn't _want_ to get married to someone she barely knew. She didn't _want_ to run an Empire when she could barely govern her own _life_—this alone made her selfish, and she knew that kind of attitude was_ not_ for the good of her people. She'd grow old, bearing half Shinma, half human children with her distant fiancée—a man she could never love.

She wanted _none_ of those things; they were against everything she'd ever believed in. She wanted warm sunsets and the laughter of children—children born out of _love_, not obligation. She wanted smiles and happiness. A barking dog galloping amidst a sea of flowers; a strong shoulder to lean on when she was tired, and a warm embrace to crawl into during those long, stormy nights. She wanted a family that would play games together—that gave a damn when you weren't feeling well, or wasn't too preoccupied to read a bedtime story before sleep. A family that put forth the extra effort to spend time together. Butterfly kisses and intertwined fingers. A warm bed at night.

_'I hate thinking.'_ For a moment, she let the scowl peek through, her own distaste at the unsavory turn in her thoughts clearly evident. She'd depress herself at this rate.

"You didn't show up for dinner."

She _hated_ when he did that. "_Byoki desu__," _she replied as if unaffected by his sudden appearance.

He gave her a smile she didn't see—she still stared at the distant horizon. "Of course you'd be sick, standing up here all day. As comfy as these kimonos are, I don't think they'd keep you too warm for long in this kind of weather, ne?" His Japanese was flawless; she wished she could speak other languages so seamlessly. "But I must say—you look spectacularly healthy for one unwell." He was teasing again. "A little pale, but healthy nonetheless." She did not respond in hopes that he'd leave her Sanctuary if met with silence; 'twas not to be.

"Is there something amiss?"_'Why are you here?'_ She wanted to ask, but did not. He must have truly been hunting for her in order to have found his way to the Observatory; the entrance wasn't exactly up for public display. What could he possibly want to warrant this invasion of territory?

"No," he said, his smile never wavering. He studied her briefly before stretching out his arm to her—there was a case in his hand.

She noticed it out of the corner of her eyes and looked. ". . . _N-nani?_"

He smiled at her open surprise. "I found it in the Gardens after unpacking yesterday," he explained, handing her the instrument case. "Not a very safe place for a flute, I would think." There was relief in her eyes—unhidden, unabashed relief._'So . . . the frosty princess__ can__ feel.'_ He didn't necessarily think that the Lady was a stone, but he knew how secretive and hidden she could be. To see her so openly happy about something spoke volumes.

Her eyes were brighter than usual._ "__Arigatou gozaimasu__," _she all but whispered, bowing deeply in gratitude.

His canines gleamed. "Anytime, kid," he replied in English, ruffling her bangs.

He didn't see the light extinguish from her eyes.

Disgusted with herself for stupidly thinking that he'd see her as anything other than a child—why had she gotten her hopes up in the first place?—she turned to the horizon once more, remaining silent; after a moment or two of this uncomfortable tension, the Western prince took his leave, letting the Lady alone with her own brooding thoughts and angry self-deprecation.

_'I don't even know why I cared.'_ Setting down the case, she took the flute and admired it for a moment, feeling the overwhelming need to play it; no matter if it had been a gift from a man she'd long ago given up on ever caring for, she still cherished the instrument as if it were her own limb. It felt good to play it—to let her soul run free through music. A long time went by—an hour or two maybe—before she finally left the Observatory and quietly ventured to her own room on the topmost level in the main house—away from everyone and –thing within her home. Most likely, the occupants of the house were sleeping, as it was a little past midnight; her fiancée was probably off somewhere with his older brother doing who-knew-what.

Whilst it should have bothered her that her future husband-to-be was probably grunting atop some nameless, faceless whore—for no respectable woman in her kingdom would openly have an affair with a man virtually taken—but she was not; she'd stopped caring years ago, if indeed, she ever had. It was just something that was. He was promised to her, but not yet bound—and even when he would be, that surely would not stop him from bedding any wench that caught his eye. As one of the highest rank of Shinma, he was still a baby; twenty-four years meant almost nothing, for Shinma could live for nearly a millennium—if not longer.

She probably wouldn't live a day past fifty—_if_ that.

A few more decades would mean nothing to him; whatever string of lovers he'd keep a 'secret' from her would only become more extensive and prominent the minute her casket was lowered into the cold, dark earth. He would touch and use her and, ultimately, father her children. He would be the only man she'd ever known, for she was inclined for neither lovers nor love; a marriage of convenience and peace—for her people. For the well-being of those she'd vowed to protect.

As the Heir, she no longer had dreams; the treaty had shattered any hope of those dreams ever coming to life, and to be a leader, one couldn't afford dreams. Couldn't dwell on misfortunes. The wishes made on falling stars were wasted—the candles on her birthday cake dying on their own instead of being blown out for a wish. Dreams and wishes—weaknesses. They meant nothing and were nothing. Childish fantasies. Hope—a thing of feathers; fickle and unfaithful. She had tossed away her hope the same day she'd annihilated her own dreams. She'd build a castle on a foundation of reality and truth—of darkness and, in the end, sadness; there were no rainbows or lights at the end of a tunnel. No Happy Endings. They were fairytales—pretty and soothing, but only temporary. Like a drug.

In a way, she was thankful for such a sort lifespan—thankful that she would not live the centuries of life gifted to the Kyuuketsu. At least, as a human, she could look forward to the serenity death would give her one day—she would be able to look to the horizon and imagine the peace she could one day have. The peace and happiness denied in her life. She sighed.

She hated thinking.

"Shiina," she called quietly upon reaching her room, knowing that it would lighten her mood. Within seconds, the rabbit-eared creature appeared on her shoulder; the affectionate little bunny rubbed its head against her cheek.

"_Ne,_ Miyu_—__Daijoubu?_"

_"__Hai__."_ Though she didn't really feel it, she saw no reason to worry Shiina about it. The disbelief she felt from the pink Shinma was almost tangible, but she disregarded it. Rearranging the sheets of music, she brought the flute to her lips, her fingers moving to their respective spots by mere habit; Shiina said nothing, closing its one visible eye and swaying to the soft, yet undeniably sorrowful melody. Having Shiina on her shoulder did not deter her music—the notes on the paper became blurry until she was playing from her heart instead of mere sheets of paper.

The melody changed.

_Rainbows streaming through ashen skies  
Fortune springing from candied lies  
Mingled laughter from happy cries;  
This, I sing of in lullaby_

_Go to sleep, my baby dear  
Mommy promises to stay here;  
Safe and warm, I will keep you near  
My life I'd forfeit, so don't you fear_

_Baby, sleeping and dreaming of Sun,  
You know of sorrow, though Life's just begun  
I pray your dreams will remain as they are;  
Full of smiles and gingerbread stars_

_So sleep, my angel—my only one  
I'll guard and protect you till my time is done  
Child of mine, please remember this song  
And use it to comfort you when I am gone._

Though the words were unspoken, Shiina remembered the tune—the hymn. The pink bunny-creature remembered it from the young princess' childhood; remembered one of the rare times that Miyu had smiled. The dead look on the girl's face did not convince Shiina at all—she'd been her companion for far too long to not know when the Lady was sad.

But Shiina also knew better than to pry.

So when Her Majesty continued to play the same tune once again, she said nothing, for she had neither the heart nor courage to bring up the subject. After the second time, there seemed to be no beginning or end to the lullaby, the melody seamlessly folding into itself and becoming one large, endless loop of music and sadness. It was as if the young human princess were unleashing whatever demons lay within her little frame—as if every tear and wail of desperation were flying free through the simple, yet beautiful notes of the flute. There was a sobbing, nigh hysterical woman dwelling within the teen, Shiina was sure . . . but how to break her free?

. . . How to break her free. . .

_.: KYUUKETSUKI__ MIYU :._

The King and Queen had adjusted their schedules to accommodate their guests; Shinma were unlike Kyuuketsu in the sense that they had no restrictions—bound by the light of neither Moon nor Sun. When not working or entertaining their guests, the King and Queen would nap to recover a little before going on with the day, only able to operate at one-hundred percent under the light of the Lady Moon. The younger of the Ashbourne siblings thrived on the freedom they were given away from their parents, and even the older ones were grateful for time away from the hovering, ever-strict Western Ruler. Here, they could run and play within the humungous Kyuuketsu Manor without restraint, only mindful of not breaking anything. Even the staff seemed somewhat chipper, the sound of children laughing and playfully arguing adding sunshine to an otherwise quiet and haunted home.

And yet . . .

There was always a hollow silence—a grim, unnamable shadow lurking. Those visiting, or unused to the Manor would not know what the eerie feeling that caused the fine hairs on the back of the neck to prickle and rise was. They would not realize the gloomy and grey atmosphere that occasionally rolled in emanated from a single source—a single, solitary figure. A lone silhouette.

Everyday, when the sun just met the threadbare edges of the waning night sky, the same melody played—soothing and gentle, though undeniably sad. At times it was long and drawn-out—sometimes it was short and clipped, as if the emotion was simply too strong for the song to be continued. It was haunting—telling a tale of longing and sorrow; of regrets and hopes for a time of carefree joy and candied dreams. A cherry on top with all of the extra trimmings. One could feel the unshed tears thrumming through the corridors of the estate, quiet sobs echoing noiselessly—lacing through each melancholic note. No words could explain the sense of despair caused by the lullaby.

But, one day, Lava tried.

Over a very-delicious supper, the crimson-eyed prince looked to the Queen, who sat demurely sipping a cup of soup—they drank their soup in the East, he remembered, which didn't seem as odd as some of the customs here; this could be attributed to the fact that he'd gotten used to some of the traditions that his betrothed often adhered to without thought during her stays in his home. Thinking of the absent princess—whom he hadn't seen since that night up in the tower—a question came to mind. One he'd been thinking about often lately. "Who plays that song every morning, if you don't mind my asking?"

"You speak of the Lullaby?" When he nodded, she set down her bowl. Though she was pretty sure the young man knew—or, at least, had a clue—she answered it anyway. "Miyu," said the Queen simply. "It was the first song she'd ever played on the flute, and I'm afraid it's one of the only songs she's ever truly taken a liking to."

"She plays it every night," stated Garnet, flicking a lock of raven hair from her eyes as she contemplated the anomaly that was chopsticks.

The Queen gave a small, sad smile. "It is the sound of her tears."

They had never broached the subject again.

But night after night, the lullaby played—and night after night, Lava found himself more and more reluctant to leave the Manor with his older brother. It was ridiculous, this feeling, but it stilled his feet when he would have arrogantly strolled down the halls in search of Garline, intent on another wild night of bosoms and booze. At one time, he ran down the corridor, hell-bent on escaping the invisible bounds that licked at his heels . . . but dawn would always come, and with it, the sound of her tears.


End file.
